Friday, January 23, 2009

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday three days after Bastille day, yes it is 9:59 and I go get a shoeshine because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner and I don't know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun and have a hamburger and a malted and buy an Ugly New World Writing to see what the poets in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard) doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life and in the Golden Griffin I get a little Verlaine for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Negres of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the Park Lane Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton of Picayunes, and a New York Post with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of leaning on the john door in the 5 Spot while she whispered a song along the keyboard to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

This part is great. I love the whole shot<3 href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/xmtsp/">Bianca Elize

The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.— Cormac McCarthy

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul. Pablo Neruda

"But not before he has known the unforgiving light of the equator, a love that exists only in his imagination, and the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived."

Fed by our dreams, so inconsequential until one day We notice the hole they left. Now their importance If not their meaning is plain. They were to nourish A dream which includes them all, as they are Finally reversed in the accumulating mirror.

"I think if it's not magical, it's not going to happen, because all the other solutions I see around me-religious solutions, scientific solutions, intellectual solutions- you know, everything is too little too late and not good enough."Woody Allen

Films

A Very Long Engagement

Amelie

Blue

Cranes Are Flying (1957) Letjat zhuravli

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Happenstance

In the Mood For Love, Wong Kar Wai

Love and Death

Reds

Science of Sleep

The Batlle of Algiers

The Bicycle Thief

The English Patient

The Hours

The Secret Life of Words

The Visitor

Wings of Desire

Wristcutters

In the Mood for Love, Wong Kar Wei

It is a restless moment.She has kept her head lowered,to give him a chance to come closer.But he could not, for lack of courage.She turns and walks away.

That era has passed.Nothing that belonged to it exists any more.

He remembers those vanished years.As though looking through a dusty window pane,the past is something he could see, but not touch.And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.

IWan

In the lonely night in the blinking stardust of pale blue lightYou're coming through to me in black and white when we were made of dreams...Born In Time, Bob Dylan

In a poem, one line may hide another line,As at a crossing, one train may hide another train.That is, if you are waiting to crossThe tracks, wait to do it for one moment atLeast after the first train is gone. And so when you readWait until you have read the next line--Then it is safe to go on reading.In a family one sister may conceal another,So, when you are courting, it's best to have them all in viewOtherwise in coming to find one you may love another.One father or one brother may hide the man,If you are a woman, whom you have been waiting to love.So always standing in front of something the otherAs words stand in front of objects, feelings, and ideas.One wish may hide another. And one person's reputation may hideThe reputation of another. One dog may conceal anotherOn a lawn, so if you escape the first one you're not necessarily safe;One lilac may hide another and then a lot of lilacs and on the AppiaAntica one tombMay hide a number of other tombs. In love, one reproach may hide another,One small complaint may hide a great one.One injustice may hide another--one colonial may hide another,One blaring red uniform another, and another, a whole column. One bathmay hide another bathAs when, after bathing, one walks out into the rain.One idea may hide another: Life is simpleHide Life is incredibly complex, as in the prose of Gertrude SteinOne sentence hides another and is another as well. And in the laboratoryOne invention may hide another invention,One evening may hide another, one shadow, a nest of shadows.One dark red, or one blue, or one purple--this is a paintingBy someone after Matisse. One waits at the tracks until they pass,These hidden doubles or, sometimes, likenesses. One identical twinMay hide the other. And there may be even more in there! The obstetricianGazes at the Valley of the Var. We used to live there, my wife and I, butOne life hid another life. And now she is gone and I am here.A vivacious mother hides a gawky daughter. The daughter hidesHer own vivacious daughter in turn. They are inA railway station and the daughter is holding a bagBigger than her mother's bag and successfully hides it.In offering to pick up the daughter's bag one finds oneself confronted bythe mother'sAnd has to carry that one, too. So one hitchhikerMay deliberately hide another and one cup of coffeeAnother, too, until one is over-excited. One love may hide another loveor the same loveAs when "I love you" suddenly rings false and one discoversThe better love lingering behind, as when "I'm full of doubts"Hides "I'm certain about something and it is that"And one dream may hide another as is well known, always, too. In theGarden of EdenAdam and Eve may hide the real Adam and Eve.Jerusalem may hide another Jerusalem.When you come to something, stop to let it passSo you can see what else is there. At home, no matter where,Internal tracks pose dangers, too: one memoryCertainly hides another, that being what memory is all about,The eternal reverse succession of contemplated entities. ReadingA Sentimental Journey look aroundWhen you have finished, for Tristram Shandy, to seeIf it is standing there, it should be, strongerAnd more profound and theretofore hidden as Santa Maria MaggioreMay be hidden by similar churches inside Rome. One sidewalkMay hide another, as when you're asleep there, andOne song hide another song; a pounding upstairsHide the beating of drums. One friend may hide another, you sit at thefoot of a treeWith one and when you get up to leave there is anotherWhom you'd have preferred to talk to all along. One teacher,One doctor, one ecstasy, one illness, one woman, one manMay hide another. Pause to let the first one pass.You think, Now it is safe to cross and you are hit by the next one. Itcan be importantTo have waited at least a moment to see what was already there.

Kenneth Koch

nothing that is

One must have a mind of winterTo regard the frost and the boughsOf the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long timeTo behold the junipers shagged with ice,The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to thinkOf any misery in the sound of the wind,In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the landFull of the same windThat is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,And, nothing himself, beholdsNothing that is not there and the nothing that is.